The morning light crept into the halls of Ashigawa Academy, soft and golden, but Akuma barely noticed. His eyes were heavy, bloodshot from a night of restless turning. The nightmare clung to him like cobwebs. Even now, with the steam from his teacup curling in front of him, his hands wouldn't stop trembling.
The four Umas noticed.
McQueen sat with perfect posture at the table, eyes sharp, studying him with quiet intensity. Special Week tried to smile through the tension, but her tail twitched nervously behind her. Tachyon was tinkering with her notes, though she kept stealing quick glances, as if studying an experiment that was dangerously close to exploding. Oguri Cap… well, she ate, plate after plate of toast and eggs, but even she slowed her chewing, her violet eyes flickering toward him between bites.
"…Sensei?" Special Week finally broke the silence, her voice tentative. "You look… tired. Did you not sleep well?"
Akuma set his teacup down a little too hard. The porcelain clicked against the wood, a sharp sound in the quiet. "…It was nothing. Just dreams."
McQueen's lips pressed into a thin line. Tachyon's eyes glimmered knowingly. Oguri Cap pushed another empty plate aside and muttered, "Liar," before reaching for a new dish.
Akuma's flat stare swept over them. "…Eat. Train. That's what matters today."
The air in the room soured. Special Week's ears drooped. McQueen folded her hands in her lap, but her gaze never left him.
Then, as if on cue, the door opened with flamboyant flair.
"Mein Freund~!" Adalbert's booming voice filled the dining hall. He swirled inside with the energy of a stage performer, cape half-draped across his shoulder. "Why the long faces? The sun is shining! The flowers bloom! Our Umas are becoming stars before our very eyes! And yet here you are, gloomier than a Shakespearean ghost!"
He marched to Akuma's side, plopping himself in the chair beside him with a theatrical flourish. "Come, come! What better way to begin the day than with a smile? You have much to be proud of! The academy thrives! Your roster shines! Why, you—"
"Not now."
The words were sharp. Cold.
Adalbert blinked, startled. "Ah—?"
"I said not now!" Akuma's voice cracked across the room like a whip. His hand pressed against his temple, his patience frayed to threads. "Enough of your performances, Adalbert. I don't need it. Not right now!"
The silence was suffocating. Adalbert's smile faltered for just a second, the mask slipping, before he covered it with a chuckle that didn't reach his eyes. "…As you wish,mein Dämonenkönig." He stood, giving a shallow bow, and left the room with far less flare than he entered.
Special Week bit her lip. Tachyon scribbled something on her notes, though her hands trembled faintly. Oguri Cap kept eating, but her ears were pinned flat against her head.
McQueen pushed her chair back and stood. "…Excuse me," she said curtly, following after him.
Akuma had already retreated into his office, burying himself behind stacks of papers and charts. Race schedules, performance notes, nutritional regimens—anything to distract. Anything to drown the echoes of last night.
McQueen entered without knocking.
"…You're running from us," she said plainly.
Akuma didn't look up. His pen scratched against paper, his eyes fixed on numbers that blurred into meaningless lines. "…I'm preparing. Satsuki Sho is coming. There's no time for anything else."
"You're avoiding us."
He exhaled sharply, setting the pen down. "…I can't afford weakness. Not now. Not ever."
McQueen stepped closer, her heels clicking softly on the floor. "Weakness? That's what you call this? Hiding behind papers and strategies while everyone who cares for you watches you break?"
His jaw tightened. "…If I falter, if I allow myself to fall, then what happens to you? To Special Week? To Tachyon? To Oguri? Everything I've built—everything I've sworn—crumbles. You don't understand."
Her eyes narrowed. "Don't I?" She leaned closer, her voice sharper now. "Do you think we are so fragile? That we need you to destroy yourself just to keep us standing? We're Umas, Your Umas Akuma-san. We fight, we fall, we rise. You taught us that."
"…It isn't enough." His voice was low, hoarse. "You've seen what happens when I fail. Not when I—" He cut himself short, fingers curling into fists.
McQueen's chest rose and fell, steady but heavy. Then, softly, she said the words that cut through him:
"This isn't the Akuma I met all those years ago. The Akuma who told me… that I was enough."
The room froze.
His head snapped up. His breath caught.
McQueen's eyes softened, but her voice didn't waver. "…Do you remember? I was trembling, certain I would never match my family's expectations. I thought I was nothing but a shadow. And you—" Her lips trembled, but she held his gaze. "You looked at me with those same cold eyes and told me I was enough. That I didn't need to become anyone else. That I, Mejiro McQueen, as I was, could shine."
The weight of her words struck him harder than any blow. His chest ached, the room spinning around him.
"But I don't see that man… Not with you." And with those words, she left.
His reflection caught his eye in the mirror that had been behind her.
Dark circles under his eyes. Bloodshot gaze. Shoulders slumped, face lined with exhaustion. The man staring back looked more like a ghost than the Demon King he was once hailed as.
"…Who is…" His voice cracked, barely audible. "…Who is Akuma?"
The question hung heavy in the air.
Akuma stared at himself, at the broken man reflected in the glass. The silence pressed in, crushing, suffocating. For the first time in years, he felt small.
And the only answer that came was silence.